Hollow Of Your Hand
by audsome
Summary: Pain from the death of a cherished one doubles for every prank and adventure accomplished together. Pain increases tenfold for every lie and halftruth. Ginny knows the pain she must perpetually carry. HG OneShot


Summary: Pain from the death of a cherished one doubles for every prank and adventure. That pain is increased tenfold for every lie and half-truth. Ginny knows the pain she must perpetually carry.

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HOLLOW OF YOUR HAND

Ginny Weasley's long mane of red hair was tied in a loose knot, conveniently keeping the hair from whipping into her tear-streaked face from the vicious wind. Resting in her lap sat her hands twisting her damp handkerchief which Ginny found useless as her eyes just wouldn't dry and her hands shook mercilessly so she merely smeared her tears and snot about her face.

Around her shaking shoulders, her brother's arm pulled her closer to her for a warm squeeze and a last pat before returning to hold Hermione Granger, his long-time friend and short time fiancée. Hermione was holding up comparably worse than Ginny, her bushy hair hadn't been pulled back from her face so she looked half hysterical and half like Professor Trelawney, a bit off the deep end. It was understandable, though. And Ron, who had cried his heart out the night before, still found tears escaping in a mad race down his sullen face. It was understandable though. As it was understandable that her mother could emit such heart wrenching sobs for the boy she couldn't love enough.

And it was understandable that the myriad of witches and wizards, sitting on the waving green grass before the first place he ever called home, couldn't hold back their own tears from adding to the glittering monument that was for him. It was understandable that everyone lamented for their wide-eyed hero. It was understandable that everyone mourned for Harry Potter. Even was it understandable that his muggle aunt, Petunia Dursley, and her walrus sized husband and son, Vernon and Dudley Dursley, sat among the witches and wizards in tribute for Harry.

Remus Lupin paused in his eulogy long enough to steady his quivering arms, to steady his quaking voice, and long enough too reopen too many un-healed wounds. He spoke softly, kindly, unabashedly and laughing bitterly at the life that had only begun to spring forth.

Ginny lost herself in her own ruminations of her very own hero. She remembered her very first look at the Boy-Who-Lived, the very first time she looked at her Hero, the very first time she took of her rose-tinted glasses and really saw the boy underneath all the gossip and underneath all that pressure. Her first kiss with Harry back in sixth year had opened her heart more than any thing she had ever done. It had brought more butterflies in her stomach than her first Quidditch match, more than her first duel at the Ministry of Magic, more than anything else in her life.

Lupin paused long enough to clutch the bit of robes hanging loosely over his heart, "Most importantly, he was more than a student, a friend, a fighter. Harry is someone I would be proud to call my son. Even though he is gone from this earthly home, my love for this boy, who turned into a great man-"

Lupin's hand covered his mouth, his eyes caste down. He seemed to want to say more, to repeat that Harry was indeed special but couldn't find the strength to continue. Lupin slowly trudged back to his chair where Nymphadora Tonks, with her midnight black hair framing her face, held him tenderly to her. She held his quivering back with no clumsy attempts but sincere, heartfelt adoration.

This easy yet simple display of affection sent a new pang through Ginny's aching body because Harry's own casual hugs and kisses were something that she treasured more dearly than the new broom Harry had gotten. A new emotion ruptured her heart, one that was not understandable to her hazy mind. Guilt. Inside she cried because guilt over road any other emotion. She wanted to say that Harry and She had fought, that before the Final Battle (at the newly redeemed Rita Skeeter as thus named it) they had fought. This would have eased her troubled mind.

Even though Harry and she had parted at Dumbledore's funeral, or maybe even because of it, Harry had been able to welcome her into his tight-knit friendship with Ron and Hermione. He gave her respect, he treated her as an equal, and had asked her –- despite Ron's disapproval— if she would help them. And she had eagerly agreed, she had exclaimed 'yes' and had hugged him. Maybe, she thought as she saw that Fred and George had begun sharing their adventures with Harry, his greatest trait was his strength.

The two red-headed trouble-makers did not take delight in the tears shed today at their feet for once as they recounted the most joyful stories they had with the Boy-Who-Lived. "Harry was like another Weasley Twin," Fred joked.

"He was Ron's twin," George explained as Fred wiped his eyes. "He and Ron probably got into more mischief than Fred and I ever could."

Fred held onto his brother's arm comfortingly. "He was also a loved member of our home, and his ability to put even us in higher spirits will make his absence thoroughly missed."

Ginny found her eyes brimming once more, pondering on how such jovial experiences could make one feel such terrible pain and longing, while making one lightheaded with happiness. She yearned to run to the Gryffindor common room, jump into Harry's lap and snuggle into him until her guilt and pain left. Sometimes, if she looked hard enough, she could see Harry smiling back at her and feel his hand clasp in her own.

The chance to stand proudly at Harry's side she gladly took. She fought alongside, back-to-back, and even far off from him, but he always asked her if she would stand beside him. She never once took for granted him, never once though twice to saying 'yes' and yet the last day, the day of the Final Battle, she wished they had fought, she wished he hadn't been so understanding of her need to be by his side. Her guilt ate terrible at her stomach.

A few other students stood to explain how Harry Potter had touched their lives, Cho Chang even spoke briefly, but mainly it was Gryffindors, and the Quidditch team, and the Creevy Brothers. They said how Harry had illuminated their lives, how greet he was at Quidditch, and how he truly wanted everybody to live safely.

Ginny pulled her legs in as her father, Arthur, made his way to the front leaving his mother to be comforted by Charlie, who cries tears just as large as hers. Her father told them how brave Harry had been, even when he realized what the prophesy of the Final Battle had truly had in store for him.

"Harry was-" Her father choked out, "justly the best person I -- have ever known – to have—he didn't suffer-- he knew his task, and couldn't have been more honored to lay down his life for all of us. His death was a terrible loss, he died so young—I love him greatly."

When her father brushed by her, his bright brown eyes could not hold any of his tears and they ran unchecked down his face. He returned to her mother, and they comforted each other.

Some others who had fought in the last battles with Harry stood up to give their last, wonderful experiences with Harry, but Ginny couldn't share in their joy or their pain. She could only feel abject guilt. She could only feel pain as she remembered their last times together.

She and Harry had gotten closer, they shared their inner thoughts and secrets, they laughed together, and they had been content with each other. She was content to hold him together and he to be comforted in her embrace, as they waited for the Final Battle to draw near. Maybe, his greatest trait wasn't his strength, it wasn't his flying abilities nor his adeptness at magic… maybe it was his ability to love unceasingly and genuinely to every body that made him so special. This magical ability to love gave him the power to forgive Snape of murdering Dumbledore, and forgive He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named of murdering his parents.

Maybe it was this love that moved his aunt to tears, and war-hardened men such as Mad-Eye Moody to weep. But it was this love that was the source of Ginny Weasley's guilt. The last night that Harry and she had warmed each other, the last night that Harry and she had held each other close, the last night she had seen he looked at her earnestly with his glowing green eyes and told her with his heart on his sleeve that he loved her.

The big auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt, stood before them with a tale of his own about a secret mission he and Harry had undergone. He laughed back tears as he recounted their many mishaps that turned into lucky breaks as they escaped Death Eaters.

"Harry never let the numbers deter him. Even if it was three to one he fought with all the power he had in him." Shacklebolt let out a hearty laugh, "Even when he came across V-Voldemort, he fought with all he had in him, drawing on the strength and love of those around him and those at home. He fought relentlessly for the sake of those same people he desperately drew his strength from. He was a damn good wizard, and a damn good friend."

The auror bowed his head for a moment, his silence paying homage for the greatest wizard of this Age. The floor of the podium darkened with a few stray tears before he returned to his place among the many other aurors whose respect for Harry was boundless.

Ginny remembered that night vividly. That last time she would feel his heart beat, the last time she could laugh at how his eyes looked so small behind his glasses, and the last time and only time he told her he loved her. He had looked into her eyes and held them captive, and then he told her. They were simple words that started a complex jumble of emotions to flutter through her heart.

She had joke then, unable to comprehend the utterance, and said, "Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Loved'. She noted how his eyes clouded, and knew that he yearned for her to reciprocate his declaration. She had laughed then, at how easily his confidence trembled, and kissed him tenderly on his waiting lips. She whispered those three words where his glasses curved behind his ear, 'I love you,' and held him tight.

The podium bent under Rubeus Hagrid stood nervously, his beard trembling as he struggled to compose himself. "I knew Harry -- was goin to be a great wizard, it was in his blood. He had great parent's -- who looked after him even in death."

The guilt that gripped her heart held fast as the event played over and over in her mind as though she was looking through a pair of omnioculars that had been set to 'repeat.' That should have been the best day of her life because her boyfriend told her he loved her. Yet, it wasn't. She felt regret and pain. She most especially felt guilt because of the response she had given him.

Hagrid's great sobs boomed, sweeping Ginny away from her last moment with Harry, and he continued. Hagrid told a story starting with a young boy who didn't even know he was a wizard to a strapping young man who was kind and strong even though he carried the weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders. He wept for the lost boy.

Headmistress McGonagall was speaking the last words of the service; she stood up there shaking as she tried to withhold the last few raking sobs until the end of the eulogy. No one could doubt that she cared strongly for Harry Potter, despite the grief he caused her by breaking so many rules.

Her regret wasn't so shallow that she hadn't been intimate with her boyfriend after their similar declarations of love. Ginny was content with their last, tender kiss and knew that it was something that he treasured.

She bowed her head, her tears began sliding down her nose before dripping onto her handkerchief resting in her lap, and a few fiery strands of hair wiggled their way out of her loose knot to fly around her face. She knew it was understandable that she would feel as though her heart had been sliced in two, so she cried without restraint. She knew Harry was gone from her forever, so she had welcomed her brother's hug instead of her boyfriend's gentle touch. And she knew it was understandable for her to feel guilt. Not guilt at Harry's death, which only that terrible monster could be blamed for.

McGonagall wiped a tear from her face and she said her last words, "I love Harry Potter immensely, for his brave acts and his mischievous nature. I know that Albus Dumbledore trusted and loved Harry Potter. On many occasions when I believed that Harry had pulled a prank so terrible that he had to be expelled, Albus would confide in me that he was Harry's friend, through and through. He would assure me that Harry was fighting for all of our freedom from Voldemort. How true he was! Harry Potter was not cruel. Harry fought for the rights of all wizards and witches and magical creatures. Harry Potter is loved by all, and he will be missed by all."

She had lied to Harry. That was her crime. She had lied to save the Boy-Who-Lived. She had lied to save someone she cared for tremendously. Maybe it wasn't a great crime, she certainly was not going to Azkaban, but she had lied to him and he had exposed his heart to her. She had lied to save him, and yet he had died. Maybe it is understandable that she lied to save him. That she lied because he needed to hear those three, simple words. It tore her apart that she could lie so blatantly. Yet those three words were more complex than they ought to be.

Her legs shook beneath her as she stood up. She felt weak and ached all over from crying continuously for so long. She wept for the man who she fought along side, for the man who respected her as an equal, for someone who she could love. Yet, love was so complex. And she had lied to him, deliberately lied to save him. Yet Harry had died for her love, he had died because she said those three simple words.

She couldn't give a eulogy for the Hero of the wizarding world. How could she, when she lied so blatantly to?

Now, she new her penance for her lie, already she could feel her heart shredding beneath her dark blue robes, beneath her blouse, and beneath everything. She knew, because she had given her heart, her all to Harry and had lied to him, she could never give her love to another.

Her family around her stood awkwardly as they rose but didn't leave. Ginny watched Harry's friends, order members, classmates, and other close people drifted back to the Hogwarts and longed to be able to walk among them, just another nameless face able to grieve alone. She watched as the Patil twins held each other close at they walked to the castle, their identical cloaks flapping behind them.

The shuffling of feet and chairs pulled Ginny from her brooding; she followed Ron and Hermione as they headed to Harry's coffin. She allowed the distance between her and Hermione and Ron to grow, she didn't want to say a farewell or any other last words next to them. They stood in front of the pearl white coffin for a moment before Ron pulled Hermione into his arms but she shook despite his strong arms.

The arduous walk up to the monument sapped much of Ginny's strength so she stopped close enough to caress the beautiful design on the closed casket. Brown eyes misted once more, she stifled the cry that puddled deep in her throat.

The casket was closed to prevent onlookers from seeing what had become of Harry as a result of vanquishing Voldemort. When the evil wizard was finally destroyed Harry had been consumed by the very mark that had marked him as Voldemort's equal. The evil that had lain dormant in the scar spread from Harry's raven hair to the tips of his toes, turning his skin a sickly color.

The mental image of Harry's body had first fazed Ginny when she accidentally saw his body resting in a guarded room hidden away at Headquarters, despite Fred and George stubbornly refusing to let her in, which only gave her more drive to do so. She felt terrible, not because she fancied him or was physically attracted to him, but because she cared for him just as she did Ron or Bill or Charlie. She longed to see him happy but never had seen herself in the picture, happily married with eight rutty brats running between their legs. She cared for Harry but never loved him as he loved her. Harry had needed her love to survive though, so she had given him it. The attempt to fool him and to fool herself left her emotionally exhausted.

"Ginny, dear," Mrs. Weasley called to her daughter, "come here, Pumpkin."

"Oh, Mum!" Ginny cried out.

The red-head found herself eagerly hugging her mother and crying into her shoulder. She nestled deeper into her mother's robes and proffered shoulder as though she could blot out the overly sunny day and the biting wind.

Molly Weasley held onto her daughter through the crowd of people as she directed her back to the castle where a small classroom had been spared for the Weasley's use after the funeral services. Ginny was grateful for the spare rooms because she knew she wasn't up to apparating, or side-along apparation unless she was able to rest.

"I love you, Mum." Ginny whispered, understandably so as her pain countervailed her mother's comforting bosom.

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A/N: I want to thank my betas Sammie-kins and Chelzor, especially Sammie-kins who was not afraid to argue weak points with me, and I would also like to thank everybody who reads and everybody who reviews. 

I wrote this fanfiction on Father's Day because I was a little lonely and sad, which may be why it is pointlessly morbid.


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